A HAUNTED TWIST OF FATE
By
Stacey Coverstone
Copyright 2012 by Stacey Coverstone
Cover Design by Sheri L. McGathy
Visit Stacey’s website at:
http://www.staceycoverstone.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
Dedication
To my own cowboy, Paul
One
“Shhhaaay.”
The voice whispered across the air, nudging Shay Brennan awake.
“Who’s there?” she mumbled groggily, while rolling onto her side. The springs of the old iron bed squeaked under her weight. The voice came again, soft, lilting in her ear.
“Shhhaaay.”
Fingernails stroked her jaw. A palm caressed her cheek. As her eyes popped open, Shay jolted up and bumped the back of her head on the bars of the headboard. Her spine grew rigid. She scooted to a sitting position and glanced around the room, clutching the downy pillow to her chest.
With her thoughts scattered and fuzzy, it took a moment for her to remember that it was her first night sleeping in the Buckhorn Saloon, an 1885 establishment located in the historic section of town on the original Main Street. She’d walked past it a week ago. Having seen a For Sale sign in the window, she’d made an offer on a whim and closed on the legendary South Dakota property this afternoon.
“Who’s there?” she repeated. She touched her cheek and blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom. Goosebumps prickled her arms, and a chill crept across her nape. A sliver of moonlight shone through the thin curtains hanging at the window she realized she’d forgotten to close before retiring.
“Shay.” The voice spoke clear and strong this time and with more force.
Shay’s attention flew to the foot of the bed, where a gray mist began to take shape. Her heart lodged in her throat. Barely able to breathe, her body began to quake. She bit back a scream when the unearthly figure of a female materialized.
“Help . . . me,” the woman whispered, outstretching an ethereal arm.
With her back pressed against the headboard and completely awake now, all of Shay’s senses were acutely alert. Fully formed, the body looked solid, like a live human being. But she knew that couldn’t be possible. She’d locked her door. She would have heard the hundred-year-old wood creak open if someone had tried to come inside. Sneaking a glance at the door, she saw that the old fashioned skeleton key was still in the keyhole.
I must be dreaming.
The face staring back at her was pale and not of this earth. She looks like a… “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” she said aloud. The phantom searched her face with piercing blue eyes that seemed to peer into the depths of Shay’s soul.
“Who are you?” she finally whispered, when she realized the vision was not going away. Her fingers splayed over her heart, and she could almost feel the organ jumping inside her chest.
Noting the white petticoat and V-shaped corset that closed in the front with ribbon ties, the woman appeared to be dressed in Victorian undergarments. Her hair was blonde and piled on top of her head with long curls streaming down her back. And those eyes… They were as vivid as any Shay had ever seen.
The woman touched her neck with delicate fingers and began to softly moan. With her face twisting in pain, the moans eerily engulfed the bedroom to send ice-cold shivers racing down Shay’s spine. Within moments, the moaning turned to weeping. The cries were so distressing and full of sadness that Shay suddenly felt overwhelmed by a deep depression and an odd sense of regret.
“Help…me,” the figure pleaded again.
Shay loosened the death grip on her pillow. “How can I help? Who are you?”
It was then that she noticed the black and blue marks on the woman’s neck. Her gaze moved again to those beseeching eyes, and without warning, Shay’s throat closed up. It felt like she was being choked. Invisible hands seemed to be wrapped around her neck and frigid fingers pressed into her flesh, making it a struggle to breathe. The pressure on her throat was intense for a few seconds before it let up.
Coughing, Shay gasped for air. When she looked up again, the woman had disappeared.
“What just happened?” She stroked her sore neck with trembling hands. She’d barely had time to process what had just transpired when an urgent knocking came from downstairs. Was that the sound of the ancient oil furnace kicking on? She angled her head and listened carefully while inhaling deeply in order to will her skipping heartbeat back into rhythm.
It sounded more like someone pounding on the front door. Squinting at the clock on the bedside table, Shay swore under her breath. “Who would be at my door at midnight?”
The rapping stopped. But after a moment’s respite, it started up again.
She flipped on the table lamp, swung her legs off the bed, and threw on some jeans and shimmied into a t-shirt. The plank floor was cold on her bare feet. A chill nipped the air as she unlocked the bedroom door and stepped into the hallway and switched on the light. The pounding continued as she eased down the oak staircase. Craning her neck over her shoulder, she got the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching her.
“I’m coming!” she shouted while striding across the hardwood, weaving between the round gaming tables original to the saloon, and past the long paneled mahogany bar, which was polished to a splendid shine. Turning her head, she jumped when she caught her reflection in the large gilded mirror above the bar. Her body jerked a second time when her gaze flew up and met the glassy eyes of a stuffed elk head hanging over the mirror.
The thought of a stranger pounding on her door at this hour sped up the pulse of her heart more than it was already racing. Could it be a drunkard at the wrong place? The cops? Stopping at the front door, she hollered through the wood, “Who’s there?”
The knocking halted. It was an indecent hour to be calling on a person. Someone had better be dead, she thought crossly. Tossing a glance back up the stairs, she realized the pun she’d made. She had the distinct feeling someone was dead. Very dead.
“It’s Colt Morgan,” came the voice from the other side of the door.
Colt Morgan? The real estate broker? Shay peeked out from behind the heavy maroon curtain covering the glass-paneled door.
Sure enough, there stood the man who had been the listing agent on the property—a tall drink of water in a cowboy hat.
Two
Shay unlocked the door and a cool breeze swept in. Her head tilted in confusion. “Yes? Can I help you?” It felt like a cloud had settled over her brain. Had she really just seen a ghost in her room? And why was this handsome man standing at her door at midnight?
Despite the early hour, Colt Morgan’s green eyes sparkled beneath his brown Stetson. As if suddenly remembering his manners, he jerked the hat off his head to uncover sandy-colored hair and held the hat at his chest.
“Sorry to bother you, Miss Brennan,” he drawled, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Please. You can call me Shay.” She’d noted his soft-spoken accent earlier in the day, as well as the smile that lit up his tanned face.
He nodded and repeated, “Okay, Shay.”
“It’s pretty late, Mr. Morgan. What can I do for you?” The man’s rugged a
ttractiveness nearly took her breath away, even at this hour, under the dim glow of her porch light. But she couldn’t fathom why he was bothering her at this ungodly time of night.
Today at the closing, she’d caught herself staring at his handsome face, thinking he reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t put her finger on who. It hadn’t been until later when she was having dinner alone that it occurred to her. He looked like George Strait, the country singer. He had the same strong jaw, twinkling eyes, and crooked grin. She didn’t know much about country music, but she’d seen a concert poster of the singer somewhere, not long ago, when she’d been on the move. Where had it been? Iowa? Nebraska?
Snapping back from her musings, Shay realized she probably looked a sight and suddenly felt self-conscious. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, or a bra under the t-shirt. No doubt, her long hair was messed up from restless tossing and turning in bed; the way she slept most nights.
“You can call me Colt, ma’am,” he said.
“All right. Now that we have the introductions made, Colt, would you mind telling me why you’re standing at my door at midnight?”
“Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Someone walking past the saloon a while ago claimed to see water running under the door here.” They both glanced down at the same time. “This fellow said he knew I was the agent who’d listed the place, so that’s the reason he called me. I thought I’d better come check it out.”
Colt stared at the ground again and then scratched his head. “The ground isn’t even wet. I don’t see any traces of water.”
“That’s because there are none,” she said, wondering what was really going on. She didn’t like pranks being pulled on her, especially at this hour by men she didn’t know.
He sighed and seemed embarrassed and confused. “I guess it was a false alarm.”
“Guess so.” His eyes were hypnotic, but she refused to be drawn into them. She’d had enough of men and their lying, manipulative ways to last a lifetime—even the good-looking ones.
“So, is everything else okay over here?” He peered around her shoulder into the dimly lit room behind her.
“What could be wrong? I don’t understand.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Well, this might sound crazy, but that same man told me he saw something in your window. Were you standing in your window by some chance?”
“No. I’ve been in bed asleep. What did he see?” The vision of the woman replayed through her mind.
After a moment’s hesitation, Colt chuckled. “Ah, never mind. The guy might have been drunk and was imagining things. Come to think of it, his voice did sound slurred.” He chewed his lower lip for a moment. “Forget I mentioned anything.”
Shay wondered if this “drunkard” had seen the spirit who had appeared in her room. Maybe he’d seen a shadow from down on the street. It crossed her mind to tell Colt about the woman, but then thought better of it. He’d probably think she was insane. Or plastered like the guy who’d called him. Besides, maybe she’d imagined the whole thing. There weren’t any such things as ghosts.
“So, you’re okay?” Colt repeated, plopping his hat back on.
“Yes, I’m fine. I appreciate your coming over in the middle of the night. That was neighborly of you.” Even though the story seemed suspicious, there was no need for her to be rude.
He grinned, and the awkward tension between them dissolved. “Just taking care of my client, Shay. That’s my job. But you’re welcome. Is that lock strong?” He referred to her front door lock, which he jiggled.
“Quite. The building inspector went over the entire building with a fine-toothed comb. This place is as secure as a bank vault.”
“Sure. I remember reading the inspector’s report. Since everything seems to be in order here, I’ll be on my way. I apologize for waking you.” He touched a finger to the brim of his Stetson and turned to leave. Then he snapped his fingers. “There’s some paperwork I forgot to give you today at the closing. Would you like to meet me for breakfast in the morning? I could give it to you then.”
Could that be true? For the second time, Shay wondered if the story about the water had been some kind of excuse. Maybe he’d taken a liking to her at the closing and had simply wanted to see her again. Although she had sworn off men, she was flattered if that was the case. But waking her at midnight was probably not the smartest way to get on her good side. Colt was the only person she knew in town, and eating alone was starting to get old, so she decided to accept his invitation.
“That’ll be nice. I’ve been going stag for a long time.”
“I wasn’t sure if you knew anyone in town yet. We can meet at the Golden Spike diner. It’s right here on Main Street, down a block.”
“I know it.”
“They make the best blueberry pancakes in town. Do you like blueberry pancakes?”
“Sure. What time should we meet?”
He glanced at his watch. “How does eight o’clock sound?”
“Eight works.”
He grinned again. “Good night. Once more, I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“No problem. It’s nice to know people look out for each other here. You don’t find that so much where I come from. Good night.”
She watched him saunter to his pickup and admired the snug way his Levis fit his long legs and cupped his backside. As the truck pulled away from the curb, a hand shot out the window and waved. Shay waved back. Then she closed the door and locked it securely behind her.
As she crept past the tables and started up the stairs, she stopped and turned. The aroma of sweet cigar smoke tickled her nose, and she could swear she heard the faint sound of shuffling cards echo through the room.
Three
As he drove home from the Buckhorn, Colt recalled how rattled that caller had been. He’d thought the story of water running out from under the door of the saloon to be believable, considering how old the place was. That’s why he’d rushed right over. One of those ancient pipes could bust at any time, no matter what the inspector had told Shay. The second part of the story was what had him flummoxed. The guy had also vowed he’d seen a woman in white standing in the second floor window. But Shay wasn’t wearing white. The man had thought it was a ghost.
Normally, Colt would have laughed that one off. But the call had woken him from a strange dream he’d been having, where he’d pictured a strangling in one of the upstairs rooms of the saloon. He’d recognized the room from when he’d listed the property. For some unexplainable reason, he’d awakened knowing that room was the same one his client, Shay Brennan, was sleeping in tonight.
The dream had seemed so real and like nothing he’d ever experienced before. In fact, when the phone had jingled, he’d jolted up in bed and realized he’d been coated in a cold sweat.
The call had been a peculiar coincidence, but it’d turned out to be a convenient excuse for Colt to go over and check on Shay and make sure she was okay. Although he was rarely afraid of anything, the dream had spooked him.
Halting the truck at a red light, he recalled the look on her face when she opened the door to him. She could have cussed him out for waking her in the middle of the night. He would have deserved it if she had, even if he’d only been trying to do the right thing. She must have realized that, because she’d been obliging and good-natured, even as he offered her what now seemed like a lame story for stopping by.
Colt realized he hadn’t even taken down the caller’s name, just jumped in the truck and driven to the Buckhorn. Guess he’d never know who’d been pulling his leg, or why. But better some midnight joke than a saloon full of water, even if he didn’t cotton to being roused from bed at that hour.
“You’re listening to KPOC93.1, and that was Carrie Underwood singing ‘Angel Take the Wheel,’” the D.J. on the radio said. “Coming up in the next hour, we’ll be playing Blake Shelton’s new song, plus we’ll have some Tim McGraw, and an oldie from Lee Ann Rimes. So don’t go away.”
Colt punc
hed the off button and rubbed a knuckle over his eyes. Cool air blew across his face through the open window. He’d be lucky if he got back to sleep before one-thirty. Once he was awakened in the night and his mind started cranking out thoughts, he had a hard time shutting it down again.
For instance, tomorrow morning he had to get to the office early to fax a contract to someone on the east coast. Then, he needed to pull some listings for a couple that were relocating from Ohio. He had to remember to call Lisa to set up an appraisal for Pete Johnson. And meet Shay at eight for breakfast…
“Ah, damn,” he groaned. Why had he asked her to breakfast? He had a rule about mixing business with pleasure, especially with pretty clients. He should have told Shay he’d either have the papers mailed to her or delivered.
Colt lightly banged his fist against the steering wheel, wondering why his gut twisted in a knot. Was the Mexican food he’d had for supper wreaking havoc on him? Or could it be that Shay Brennan’s smile and her kind, easygoing nature had stirred him in ways he hadn’t been stirred in years? That kind of feeling wasn’t anything he needed. He’d been doing just fine the way life was.
The light turned green and he pressed slowly on the gas pedal. The town was dead. It was nice. Peaceful. Gave him time to think without the usual distractions of work and demanding clients. And his family, who, for several years now, had been trying to set him up with eligible ladies.
His late wife, Denise, had been the love of his life. When she’d died ten years ago, a part of him had died with her. Eventually, he’d learned to manage his grief, but he still maintained the notion he’d never find anyone as perfect for him as Denise had been.
Before she’d passed, she’d made him promise he’d find love again. She’d told him she didn’t want him to grow old alone. While promising, to appease her, he’d known it would be a pledge he’d find difficult to keep. It had been many years before he’d been able to think about dating another woman, let alone give his love to someone else. Losing Denise had shattered his heart in ways he’d never imagined possible. That kind of pain was not something he ever planned to go through again.
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